Better Served
by theDevilyuknow
Summary: Revenge is sweet. [RivailleMikasa]


**Summary:** Revenge is sweet. [RivailleMikasa]

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimer applies.

**A/N: **This turned out a tad more violent than I thought it would. Enjoy!

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**Better Served  
**

He was willing to sacrifice his jaw for the occasion, but she had drastically different plans. Apparently, voluntarily offering his face to her closed fist wasn't enough of a hint that his kidneys were off limits. Alas, whining was futile. She was set to hurt something, anything, and he was a stationary target for the purposes of keeping her good and out of the hospital wing, where Jaeger was undergoing a procedure Hanji loosely deemed worthy enough to call surgery. To say the little shit was in bad shape would be an overoptimistic exaggeration. And that's precisely why Mikasa wasn't allowed anywhere within the vicinity of her adoptive brother.

Of course, that easily excitable puppy, who barely ever reacted to her given name, fucking Ackerman, just couldn't listen. She was on her way out of his office before he had the chance to order she stay. And even when he managed to pause her long enough to complete his supposedly heartfelt speech of concern, which consisted of an impressive amount of vilification, even for him, she paid little heed to his words. And what did he do with all his infinite wisdom and street smarts and survival instincts, _and staying alive in this world for long enough to be brought down by a mere brat_? He told her Jaeger was hurt because of him.

That stopped her. But that was now just as effectively threatening to stop his breathing.

Frustrated that she couldn't elicit a pained enough reaction out of him, Ackerman resorted to grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him around the office in a humiliating display of his inferior height, shaking him in annoyance and anger that he wasn't fighting back, and he let her. He grit his teeth, he winced, he cursed, but he let her. Because she was hurting herself more than him, and that's exactly what she was looking for.

This unorthodox distraction process, however, was soon cut short, for in the middle of their one-sided fight, Rivaille, _the bloody masochist, _had the audacity to chuckle at Mikasa's torturous attempts to end his life short a few years, and that was enough of a push for her to move from the collar of his shirt to his hair, pulling the dark strands just far enough to reveal what she had no intention of seeing. Just behind his ear, hidden under strands of black, she caught sight of a red marking, a tattoo. It was jaggedly inked, like a scar, faded with time and seemingly forgotten. And yet, _and yet, _it was there. It was there, and the intimacy of seeing it brought the cadet to a complete halt in movement.

With a cry of pure distress, she let Rivaille fall to the ground, providing a push of assistance to make sure he wouldn't be able to maintain his footing.

She stepped away, scowling; he laughed, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and correcting his astray cravat like the pompous bastard that he was.

"Done already, Ackerman?"

"Don't bait me."

"Baiting involves subtlety. I'm not being subtle."

"You're being suicidal."

"Part and parcel, brat."

"And a liar."

That, naturally, he didn't expect, so he remained quiet, suddenly finding the pattern of the worn rug on his office floor particularly curious. Certainly much more curious than Ackerman's burning gaze, which was doing a better job of eating a hole through his skull than her fists ever could.

"You're not at fault for Eren, are you?"

Silence.

"Corporal!"

She was never one to be ignored, and he started speaking again almost instantly after she recalled his wondering attention, even if his gaze was slow to follow in returning to her.

"Am I? I think my memory's failing me. Oh, no, wait, it's coming back now. I seem to clearly remember you decking me in the temple, and-"

"You weren't even out today, you infuriating prat!"

"Are you saying or asking?" Because he sure as hell was hoping that she was saying. He didn't want to answer in the case she was asking.

She didn't seem inclined to answer him either. Instead, one threatening step later, she was leaning over him with a scowl firmly planted on her lips and fingers irritably tugging at his ear.

"Tell me," was all she needed to say for Rivaille to very quickly realize what it was that stopped her from killing him initially, and though he still preferred to plead the fifth, there was no getting around answering with her knee at such a close proximity to his nose.

Fuck. If he had any chance with her, a mangled nose just wouldn't do, now would it?

"It's a memory."

"Then take better care of it."

Leaving behind a trace of cold akin to missing something important, she took a quiet seat on his chair, the same chair he so often used to annoy her with its creaking stature. Apparently, she would listen, she would stay, and it was the most unsatisfying argument he ever won.

A win, however, was a win, and this one in particular begged just one question.

"Hey, brat. If you knew I wasn't at fault, why the fuck did you think it necessary to deck me over?"

"I think my memory's failing me. Oh, no, wait, it's coming back now. I seem to clearly remember you ruthlessly beating a tied Eren not all that long ago," she answered without skipping a beat, without even blushing. The audacity of that woman!

"Payback is a bitch, isn't it, Corporal?"

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**A/N: **I would really appreciate feedback! Thank you. :)


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